Homily – “The Good Samaritan” by Archbishop Paul Martin SM
Homily for the 15th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year C, given by Archbishop Paul Martin SM in the Metropolitan Cathedral of the Sacred Heart, Wellington on Sunday 13 July 2025.
We gather today as a people who have heard the Gospel, who have been drawn into the mystery of Christ’s love, and who now are called to live that love with courage and integrity in our world.
The Gospel passage we have just heard is one of the most familiar in all of Scripture—the parable of the Good Samaritan. But familiarity, as we know, can sometimes dull the impact of the message. We think we already know what it’s about: help people in need. Be kind. Don’t walk past suffering. All good and true. But this story is far more radical than a simple moral exhortation.
It begins with a question from a lawyer: “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” And Jesus, as he often does, responds not with a direct answer but with a question in return: “What is written in the Law?” The lawyer answers correctly: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart… and your neighbour as yourself.” And Jesus replies, “Do this, and you will live.” But the lawyer, wishing to justify himself—as Luke tells us—asks: “And who is my neighbour?”
It’s at this point that Jesus tells the story. A man is travelling from Jerusalem to Jericho. He is attacked, robbed, beaten, and left for dead. A priest comes by and sees him—but passes on the other side. A Levite also passes by. But then a Samaritan comes—an outsider, someone despised by the Jews—and he is moved with compassion. He binds the man’s wounds, puts him on his own animal, takes him to an inn, and pays for his care.
Then Jesus turns the question around: “Which of these three do you think was a neighbour to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?” And the lawyer replies—perhaps grudgingly—“The one who showed him mercy.” Jesus says, “Go and do likewise.” Notice what Jesus does here. The lawyer asks, “Who is my neighbour?”—seeking to define the limits of his obligation. Jesus changes the whole frame of reference. The question is no longer about who qualifies as a neighbour, but about how we ourselves act as neighbours. The story invites us to become the kind of person who is a neighbour—someone who responds to suffering with compassion, regardless of boundaries, categories, or assumptions.
We can reflect on this in three particular ways today. First, the parable invites us to examine the barriers we construct around love. The priest and the Levite are not necessarily bad people. They may have had religious reasons for avoiding the man—they didn’t want to become ritually unclean. But in preserving the external form of holiness, they missed its heart: mercy. We too can fall into this trap. We can become selective about who we help, comfortable in our boundaries, quick to define who is “in” and who is “out.” We can let fear, prejudice, or busyness stop us from crossing the road. As people of faith, we are called to step beyond those self-imposed limits and act from the heart of God—a heart that sees, that feels, and that moves to heal.
Second, the Samaritan represents the unexpected agent of grace. He is the outsider, the heretic in the eyes of Jesus’ audience. But he is the one who acts with mercy. He is the one who embodies love. There’s a challenge in this. We often expect virtue to come from familiar places—from those like us, from the religious, the educated, the “respectable.” But God’s grace is not confined to such boundaries. Sometimes, the one who teaches us what love looks like is not the priest or the bishop, but the stranger, the refugee, the one on the margins. Our task is to remain open to how God works through unexpected people and places.
Third, the parable calls us not just to feel compassion, but to take action. The Samaritan doesn’t just feel sorry for the man—he stops, tends his wounds, gives of his resources, and ensures ongoing care. Christian love is not sentimental. It’s costly. It demands time, effort, vulnerability. And it’s not optional. As Jesus says, “Go and do likewise.”
In our city today, who are the ones left by the side of the road? Who lies wounded by violence, poverty, racism, or neglect? It may be the rough sleeper on the street. It may be the solo mother struggling with housing. It may be the elderly person facing loneliness, the migrant navigating a new land, or the child growing up without security or support. We cannot help everyone. But we are each called to be attentive to the one before us—to this wounded person, this need, this moment where love must act.
In our Church too, we must ask: are we a community that crosses the road, or one that crosses away? Are we willing to be inconvenienced by compassion? Are we building a Church that includes and heals—or one that maintains purity at the cost of mercy? This Gospel invites us not just to admire the Good Samaritan, but to become him. To have our lives oriented not by duty or rules alone, but by a love that takes risks and crosses boundaries.
As we gather at this altar today, we are reminded that we follow one who did just that. Jesus himself is the true Good Samaritan—he saw us in our woundedness, came to us, healed us with his own body and blood, and continues to care for us through the grace of the Church. May we, nourished by this Eucharist, become neighbours to all we meet. May we, as a diocesan family, be known not by our status, our structures, or our size, but by our mercy. As Jesus says: “Go and do likewise.”
Archbishop Paul Martin SM. Catholic Archbishop of the Archdiocese of Wellington, New Zealand.
